Time's Cruel Hands
by Ani Pendragon
Summary: He has made more mistakes than any man, woman, or child in this world. He has done that which he regrets with his very soul. But even he cannot rewind the hands of time, only pause them for a little while. And it is in those gaps between time that his greatest cruelties take shape. A four times fic surrounding the story of Professor Ozpin.


**Author's Note:** A five times (technically four) fic revolving around the story of Professor Ozpin. Parts one to three are pre-canon and part four is post-canon as of season two episode six. This story is part of Interlocking Existence, my RWBY series, but part four is not canon as of this moment. The rest, however, is. This story contains quite a few headcanons of mine, including vague allusions to gay!Ozpin, Ozpin's first name and nickname, his semblance, aura, and weapon, the death of Summer Rose, vague illusions to Faunus!Oobleck, and the story of James Ironwood. Includes violence, swearing, death, and blood. Written August 24th, 2014 to September 11th, 2014.

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**Time's Cruel Hands**

**1.** … **Against a Teacher**

He was a year and day into Beacon Academy the day his semblance came to light. And, despite all that followed, despite everything he did in the years that came afterward, that day remained the worst in his life.

For that day, standing across from Professor Horton, the assistant headmaster of Beacon Academy and a man he'd considered a mentor and a friend, Oz realized what the world thought of his power, his potential, and his ability to destroy with only a touch.

"Take a fighting stance," said Professor Horton. Oz's cane hung limply in his right hand. His glasses slipped down his face. He didn't bother to retrieve them. With blurry eyes, he found James in the audience, who looked at Oz with a gaze filled with pity and with guilty.

"_You can freeze time?" he'd shouted in the class. "That's unbelievable!"_

"_You're right, it is," Professor Horton had replied._ And that was what had started all of this. If James hadn't opened his big mouth, none of this would have ever happened. And they would be sparring as usual, with James using his shield and spear and Oz with his cane ("It's a staff." "It's a cane." "But that makes you sound so _old._").

Instead he stood across from Professor Horton, who meant to humiliate Oz without a care as to the damage he could cause. The professor didn't believe he could freeze time. In fact, the man didn't even think he had a semblance, as he had pointed out a dozen times. No matter that Oz had reflexes not found even in the most powerful Hunters. No matter that Oz could seemingly teleport in the battlefield. None of that mattered. He had no semblance, the professor said, and now, standing across from him, Oz realized what he meant by that.

"Professor Horton, please," said Oz. "I don't want to hurt you." His gaze was soft and his body language open. He prayed the man would listen to him.

"You lie. You have no semblance. Everyone knows that, everyone knows you get by on luck and sarcasm." snapped Professor Horton.

"Professor…"

Professor Horton was quick to interrupt him. "Frankly, it's pathetic." A smirk. "And so are you." Oz flinched backward as though he'd been physically struck. The words were needlessly cruel, and more so in front of his peers. Had the man always thought him pathetic? What about all their late night conversations? The philosophical discussions they held over tea? The gentle words that had guided him through the toughest moments of his young life? Was everything a lie?

"Don't look so upset," said the professor.

"But… why?" whispered Oz. He didn't think it had been loud enough for the professor to hear until the man responded.

"Because I wanted a semblance more powerful than any other. I wanted to control time itself! And I worked so hard, I studied for years. And yet, you waltz in here on luck and looks instead of skill or knowledge and expect people to believe your lies." The man flexed his hands on the bow form of his weapon. "No more. I will prove you are lying Oz, once and for all."

"You're a teacher!" James protested. "You're supposed to protect and help us! Not hurt us!"

"Silence!" Professor Horton roared. He turned back to Oz. "I will, I will protect you all from this fool and his lies."

Oz dropped his gaze to the floor. "You hate me," he said. His voice was sad and broken, a croak that betrayed every ounce of hurt that thrummed through his body and left him trembling pathetically on the tournament stage.

"Yes, I do." With that, Professor Horton flipped his bow into melee mode –a staff with blades on either end – and charged. Oz leapt out of the way, barely registering as he twisted and dodged the attacks of the crazed man.

"Show yourself. Show your lies and prove that you are a fake." Professor Horton's eyes were crazed. His body language grew more and more erratic until Oz couldn't tell what the next move the man would make would be.

"Oz!" James voice came as a terrified shout. Gasps ripped through the hall. And Oz squeezed his eyes shut at their screams.

Everything went silent. Oz opened his eyes to see the world had frozen, just like it had a thousand times before in his dreams. He blinked away the gears overlapping his vision. Time was frozen, just like James had said. Oz sighed. He'd done this before, but he wasn't sure on the range or how long it would last.

Two feet from him stood Horton, his staff blade an inch from his neck. Oz stepped back and studied the crazed man and his manic expression. This was the man he'd depended on for most of his first year in Beacon. This was a man he had considered his mentor, despite all the pain the man had caused the school. Oz closed his eyes and steeled himself for what he would have to do next.

"You asked me to prove it," whispered Oz to the frozen man. "You asked me to show you what I could do. I don't know what you'll do if I unfreeze you, but it won't be good." He circled the man and stopped at the edge of the stage, looking down at James, whose face was frozen in fear. He shook his head. The man was good to him. He was Oz's best friend. But this? This would be hard to forgive.

A wave of sickness overwhelmed Oz and he turned from James, unable to stomach the man anymore. He turned back to Professor Horton and sighed. This part wasn't going to be fun. No matter how much he tried to steel himself against what he'd have to do, he knew he was going to be sick the moment he unfroze time.

Oz walked up to the crazed man, ducking his outstretched arms, and paused, a foot from his face. Then, he reached out with one hand and pressed two fingers to the man's shirt, right over his heart. He felt the life beneath, the beating heart that had been temporarily paused by his semblance. Taking a deep breath, Oz let it out slowly. The gears appeared in his vision, blurring it and making it dance with visions of timepieces and clocks. Beneath his touch, the heart began to age. Beats thrummed up his fingers and into his body, faster and faster though the heart never truly beat. It aged, a year, then ten, then twenty, and it kept going. It kept going until he felt it shudder beneath his hands, and he slowed, counting the beats that were left.

Five. Five seconds. Five beats. That was all the heart had left. Long enough for the man to know Oz had not lied, but not long enough for anything else to take hold and let him attack again. Oz swallowed against the bile in his throat and stepped back.

It would be a heart attack, no doubt. And he would never be found guilty. How could you prove what happened outside of time? He swallowed again against the own sickness of his thoughts. He would need new shoes when this was over.

"I'm sorry," Oz whispered to the man. Then, stepping back farther, he closed his eyes, and allowed time to catch up with him.

**2\. **… **Against an Army**

They massed at Vale's borders, the army. Ten thousand men and women, each trained by the most elite of sergeants, and now led by several of the greatest generals the kingdom had ever seen. The army stood against Vale, and if not stopped, Vacuo would destroy the kingdom.

Oz stood atop a hill, watching as they formed lines of defense and listened to orders. His cane was hot and humming in his hand. The dust crystal mounted to the top seemed to vibrate. It knew what was coming.

He knew what the news would say about him, Ozymandius Ozpin. They would call him a hero, a saviour, a god amongst mortals. They would praise everything he was about to do, claim it was a show of power that Vale needed to keep themselves safe. They would say all these things and more as their praised the one man sent against ten thousand soldiers. They would whisper for months about his mysterious semblance, the one not even the United Hunters Association had gotten out of him. They would whisper and stare in awe at the man who destroyed an army. He sighed at the thought. One huntsman versus ten thousand soldiers. It was not a fair fight, no, not by a long shot. Against any other huntsman, the soldiers would have won.

But this was Oz. And Oz did not lose, as much as he wished he could.

The man walked down the hill, his footsteps quiet in the crunching leaves and soft grass. The soldiers did not notice him until he was halfway down, and by then they had received their orders. Not one raised their weapons against him. They thought he was a diplomat, sent to negotiate for peace between the two kingdoms. Oz pressed his lips tightly together at that. Peace, that was a dream and a half. There would never be peace. Not so long as he must keep his semblance secret. Not so long as the kingdoms fought over the dust mines that were growing more and more scarce. And not so long as the Grimm and soldiers walked against humanity as a whole.

He did not approve of being sent as a diplomat. Deception did not suit this situation. But he was growing accustomed to pretending he was something he was not, and better still at pretending not to know the things he did. It was the way he had to be, if he wanted Vale to consider him an asset and not a threat. Better still, if he wanted the UHA to believe they had no reason to take him down, despite his "mysterious and dangerous semblance."

So Oz walked down the hill, cane in one hand and pain in his heart. The soldiers kept watching him. In his mind's eye, he calculated the time it would take them to change to ranged weapons and attack. Even two seconds would be two too long for them. The thought made him grimace. This knowledge was not something he liked to hold, and yet, he could not stop it. No more than he could stop breathing.

"Mr. Ozpin, a pleasure to meet you," said the general, holding out her hand. She smiled, sharp teeth and sharper eyes, and her handshake was firm, if a little aggressive. He nodded in response, keeping his face carefully neutral.

"And you, General Tula," he replied. The woman's short cropped back hair whipped up in the wind.

"I was told you are here to negotiate peace," she said. "Unfortunately, my people do not want peace."

Oz nodded, he had expected as much. "Of course, but there is always room for talk."

Tula scowled. "You have accepted Faunus into your cities and your work places. You treat them like people. There can be no peace so long as they are allowed to walk amongst humans." Oz's hand tightened on his cane and he gave a short nod. He was not supposed to argue, but Lord how he wanted to. One of his closest friends was a Faunus man who had been on the receiving end of such cruelties for years. To the point where his ears had been taken from him years ago, leaving only the eyes he sought so desperately to keep hidden.

"I understand," replied Oz. But he offered nothing else. "What would you have me do then?"

General Tula snorted, drawing her sword. "I would have you leave and tell your people we will bring this battle to them if they do not rid themselves of those ruffians."

"And if I refuse?"

General Tula's smile was sharp and cruel, her eyes glinting in the soft light of the day. "Then you return in pieces." All around them, weapons were drawn and aimed at Oz. He sighed, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. His palm passed over the dust crystal at the top of his cane.

"I was afraid you'd say that," he murmured. As the general opened her mouth to bark her command, Oz let his semblance wash over him. The gears appeared in his eyes and the world seemed to pivot on its axis. Tula and her soldiers froze, snapped in place like a sudden flash from a camera. The world lost most of its colour. The sword was a few inches from his face. Oz pushed it aside and took a step backward. Nothing moved, not that he had expected it to.

He starred out at the ten thousand soldiers, all frozen. All in various stages of taking out or changing their weapons. He frowned, his hand quivering on his cane. Ten thousand faces. There was no way he could remember them all. He wished he could. It would make this slaughter more manageable, if he knew he could remember all those whose lives he'd take, and all the rest whose lives he was about to ruin.

He remembered his teachers, who claimed he lacked the courage to take a life. He remembered his mother, who had always told him that his gentle soul would be his greatest strength and weakness. Mostly, however, he remembered James, who had looked at Oz with pity when he'd left, and whose look of pity and guilt stretched back to their days in Beacon together.

Guilt, for the semblance he was never supposed to reveal. Guilt, for all the pain it had caused Ozpin. Guilt and pity and sadness for a man he could not save. Oz closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and drew the blade from his cane. He rolled the blade in his hands, exhaled, and opened his eyes.

"I'm sorry." The words hung in the air, frozen in time like everything else, as he stepped into the crowd and drowned the fields in red.

**3\. **… **Against an Aura**

All around him the storm raged on, its power so great that it had knocked out electricity for over fifty miles around. Enormous storm clouds swept high into the air and thunder and lightning crashed in the sky. There was no rain, but in the fog that had settled over the forests and the cliffs roamed oddly white beowulves. Each one was translucent; their glowing eyes faded and sometimes silver at the right angle.

Oz pushed through the fog and the trees, feeling for the broken and terrified aura at the centre of this storm. Once, that aura had belonged to the greatest student he'd ever seen in Beacon Academy, a student he never had the honour of teaching, for he only became headmaster a few years later. But now, that aura belonged to a monster, and only at the very centre remained its humanity.

She was not gone, but she was dying. And she would take half the kingdom with her when she did.

"Summer!" Oz called as he got closer to the broken woman. She sat on her knees holding her head in the middle of the storm. Her aura and her semblance had broken her; there was no doubt about that now. The UHA had sent Oz in to do what was necessary, but he'd hoped against hope that he could save her.

"Summer, please, listen to me," he called again. She let out a wail so high that it pitched upward into a howl. Another misty beowulf broke through the fog. It charged at Oz and he easily sidestepped it. When the creature turned and reared, he swung up with his cane. It burst in a gust of fog and vanished. There had to be a way to save her, he thought, there had to be a way to protect her.

Summer had saved the world from the Elphaba, the most wicked of all enemies. Her power rivalled Oz's, and now she was gone, vanished or dead for who knows how long. That was because of Summer. If not for her, their world would be destroyed, but she'd destroyed herself in the process. And after beating Elphaba, she'd never gone home again, for fear of harming her daughters and husband.

"I don't want to hurt you." His voice was hoarse and low and he doubted that she could hear him. Oz was twenty feet from Summer before she looked up at him. White rose petals drifted around the invisible cocoon she'd formed for herself. Within ten feet of Summer there was no wind, no wolves, and no terror. There was only a mockery of peace and her rose petals – the indicator of her semblance.

He stepped inside the cocoon and immediately the wolves that had been following him turned and walked off. Oz shook his head and looked away from them. The beowulves were one of the reasons he'd been sent instead of someone else. Few people knew Summer's semblance allowed her to conjure fake ones, and the UHA was not keen in letting others know. It would raise too many questions, they said.

He called them cowards nonetheless. But still, he'd come. Not for them, but for her. For the girl he'd long since considered a younger sister.

"Summer," he tried again, his voice even quieter than before. He was six feet from the young woman. She looked up. Oz sucked in a breath at her appearance. Summer's eyes were hollow and exhausted and their silver sheen seemed to be glowing. Tear marks stained her face and her throat was dirty and bloody from clawing at it. From when Elphaba had struck out against her and tried to suffocate her. That was what had started all of this. Ozpin crouched in front of the woman.

"Summer, can you hear me?" he asked. Summer nodded. Then, she grabbed her head and screamed all over again. It morphed into a howl and another misty beowulf burst forward and disappeared into the fog. He reached out and caught one of her hands as they fell. She whimpered and stared at him with tear filled eyes.

"Professor Ozpin?" she asked. Her voice was hoarse and broken, no louder than a whisper. There was none of her usual bluster or optimism in her voice. All that was left was the hollowed out husk of a woman too spent to go on. "My daughters."

"Yang and Ruby," said Oz, nodding. "I know of them."

"Keep them safe." Oz nodded again. His hand tightened around Summer. He knew what was coming, but he didn't want to. Lord knew he didn't want to go through with this, but this was Summer Rose. She could never stand to hurt people, and if she could die without hurting the world, he knew she could. But there was only one way to do that.

"Please," whispered Summer. "I don't want to hurt anyone else."

He brushed a strand of hair back from her face, rubbing his thumb under her eye. Her white cloak was dirty, but it still shone more brightly than anything else in the fog.

"I know."

"Take my cloak," she said. "Give it to Ruby, she loves it so." Oz unlatched the cloak and pulled it from her shoulders. His vision was blurring with tears. Summer's face distorted a bit before he blinked most of them back. Still his eyes watered.

"Tell me," she said. "Did I do a good job?"

Oz nodded, pressing his lips tightly together to keep them from trembling. "Yes," he managed to croak. "You did amazingly. No one could have asked for more."

"Ruby…"

"She'll be fine." He brushed a hair back again from her soft features. "She has your spirit, and Yang to keep her safe." Summer nodded. They were both crying now, tears slipping down their faces in perfect harmony. Oz's vision swam and refocused every few seconds as new tears fell from his eyes.

Summer asked, "Is it worth it in the end? To fight?"

"I like to think so," said Oz. "I think it always is, to make the world a better place."

"Then let me die in peace, so my fighting was worth it," said Summer. "Please." The last word as a plea, a croaked out whimper that she didn't expect to be answered. Oz drew his blade from his cane and pulled Summer into a tight embrace. She sobbed into his shoulder, tears staining his green jacket.

Oz pressed a kiss into her hair, listening to the howls of the wolves all around them. "I'm sorry, Summer," he whispered. And he drove the blade through her heart.

**4\. **… **Against a Friend**

The city was half in ruins and the people of Vale had fled. Grimm stalked the alleyways and the robots that once protected the world now stood to destroy the Huntsmen and Huntresses that strove to protect it. Every student in Beacon scrambled to survive and to win against the Grimm, but so many already laid dead in the streets.

At the centre of the city, surrounded by carnage, stood a feral looking James Ironwood and a calm, but ruffled, Professor Ozpin. Neither man moved, but both clung to their weapons. For James, that was his robotic right arm, and for Oz, that was his cane.

"You should have never come here, James," called Ozpin across the square. James merely laughed.

"You should have never tried to stop me," he countered. Sweeping his human hand across the square, he flashed a familiar smile to Oz. "Look at this destruction Oz, look at how useless these Hunters are! These schools are for naught, these children are for naught. My robots can destroy these Grimm with a look, if only your students would stand down."

Oz shook his head. "I cannot ask them to do that, my friend."

"And why not?" James flexed his hand. "The United Hunters' Association has done nothing but cause us grief and pain. They don't understand the world the way we do, Oz. They don't see the potential in the destruction."

"And you believe I do?"

James nodded, clenching his hands into fists. "I know you do. For years we have fought these monsters from the sidelines, prohibited from fighting due to our power – power the UHA knows they cannot contain. But think all this;" He swept his hand across the city again, "all this could be gone. We could save everyone, every last person. No more wars, nor more destruction, no more death." He shook his head. "We could stop it all, together."

"You mean to destroy all that we know to create some fantasy utopia?" asked Oz, his hands closed more tightly around the top of his cane.

"It is not a fantasy!" James roared. "I know what you can do – I've seen it. We fought alongside each other for years. Look at my robots! Look at me! Look at you! Think of what we could do, together. Together we'd be unstoppable, we'd have unlimited power."

"That never goes well, James," replied Oz. "Absolute power corrupts absolutely. If no one could stop us, how could we stop ourselves?"

James shook his head. "You were never willing to make sacrifices, were you?"

Oz let loose a low growl, his eyes flashing dangerously green. "Don't you tell me about sacrifices!" he snapped, slashing one hand through the air. "You know nothing of sacrifice!"

"What if I told you no more little girls would have to die, Oz?" asked James, latching onto the feeling. "What if I told you no more Summer Roses would have to die?" At that, Oz faltered, his eyes widening and his grip on his cane loosening dangerously. "We could do it all."

"No more deaths…," murmured Ozpin.

James smiled, his expression warm as he extended a hand to Ozpin. "No more deaths," he agreed. "We could even bring Glynda with us."

Abruptly, Ozpin snapped back to attention, his eyes narrowing and the green returning. If one looked closely enough, they could see the literal gears spinning behind his eyes, their shadows forming up as his semblance itched to escape.

"And that's what it all comes down to, isn't it?" asked Ozpin in a sad tone. His shook his head, his lips twisted in a wry smile. "Because we've always been friends, but it's always been Glynda, in the end."

"Is there something so wrong with wanting such a beautiful woman?" asked James.

"No," replied Ozpin. "No there is not." The sad smile returned, crinkling the edges of his eyes. "But you always were blind to the obvious."

James frowned. "I do not understand."

"You wouldn't." A sigh. "You're right, my friend, we could have had everything." He strode slowly across the square toward his friend. "We could have had everything you ever wanted – peace, prosperity, love." His lips twitched at that, a broken smile for an unheard joke. "But not the way you want. I will never, nor could I ever, abandon my students and my friends to destroy the world we know to create an order that will never hold."

"We could make it hold," protested James.

Oz shook his head, stopping a few feet from James. "No, we couldn't." He sighed, quiet and forlorn. "Neither one of us could rule the world; we don't have it in us. But I know you won't change your mind."

"No, I won't," agreed James.

Ozpin nodded. "So, I won't try to convince you, but I won't fight you either. You are my friend, and I do not wish to watch you fall."

James snorted. "You never did have a stomach for fighting." Oz gave other twisted smile, small and pained, for another unheard joke.

"No," he agreed. "But you forget something. I may not be a violent man, James, nor do I enjoy fighting, but I have always done what is necessary."

Another snort. "And what is necessary?"

"This." With a flick of his wrist and a tap of his cane, the world around Ozpin froze. Everything took on a washed out grey colour, just as it always had, except for him. In front of him stood James, frozen with a half-confused, half-angry look on his aged face. With shaking hands, Ozpin reached up and stroked the man's cheek, a gesture he never dared before.

"You never could see what was right in front of you," murmured Ozpin. He sighed and stepped forward, kissing the man on his cheek. "I'm sorry for this," he breathed. Ozpin drew the blade from his cane, flexing his hand around the cool metal hilt.

"Goodbye, James." Ozpin took aim with his blade and with one last broken smile he swung for James Ironwood's neck.

**End Story**


End file.
